


Meleth

by joufancyhuh



Series: Elvhen Glory [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, In which Zevran does an incredibly romantic but dumb thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Zevran delivers on a promise aka Zevran does a dumb and incredibly romantic thing and Tabris doesn't know how to react.





	Meleth

**Author's Note:**

> You should probably read A Change Of Heart first. But either way, enjoy. Written for DA DWC.

The rain comes. He’s late, and she can’t seem to abate the dread twisting her stomach into intricate knots. He’s never late, not Zevran. Not when he knows what it does to her, how worry seeds itself inside, ready to blossom at any moment into full-blown panic. They have an agreement to never be late, lest they risk their other sending out an army in search of them.

Erenya rises out of her seat at the dinner table to pace holes into the floor. _Was he discovered?_ They have a contingency plan in that event, one that involves her fleeing this safe house for another. She should be packing.

But she doesn’t. Erenya stays and she paces, though dinner grows cold, the candle set in the middle of the table melting enough for wax to pool over the sides of the holder and onto the table. Just in case he returns, she stays. Though she readied herself for an attack, her sheath belted around her waist. Her hands twist in front of her, jumping to the hilt of her blade with the slightest noise.

And then it comes, the distinct sound of footsteps. She’s worried and panicky, but not robbed of her wits as she moves behind the door. It unlocks, her breath catching as the door creaks open. A soggy, cloaked figure stumbles in, a familiar voice letting out a string of Antivan curses as he limps into the center of the room.

Her hand falls away from the hilt as she rushes to his side, arms around his neck and lips on his before he gets the chance to reach for one of his daggers. One arm slings around her waist, holding her close while she scatters kisses onto his face. He laughs before a wince scrunches his features, the arm around her letting go to allow him a step back. “You are not supposed to be here,” he warns, hollow as it sounds.

She rises to meet his challenge. “Did you expect any differently?” She unloops her sheath, her sword thudding to the floor in preparation to assist dressing his injury. “How bad is it?” When she moves toward him, he takes a step back as he unties the strings around his neck to allow his cloak to drop to the ground. Her eyes fixated on the tears in his leather armor, patches of darkness growing around the side of his stomach.

“It is shallow, but I am nothing if not a bleeder.” The arm clutching his injury holds a bundle of blankets against him.

As she slides a hand up his shoulder around to the back of his neck, his head falls onto her own shoulder. “I was too late. Lalo managed to finish his contract.”

“His last, I’m sure.” She lays a kiss on the crown of his head, some of the damp pieces of his hair sticking to her cheeks and chin. “Knowing you.”

“Indeed,” he chuckles, though his muscles tighten throughout his body again, another wince.

“Let me look at you,” she says, reaching for the bundle of dark clothing. The bundle wiggles under her touch, and she gasps, drawing her hand back. She takes a step back, her eyes darting from the bundle to his face, confusion as to what he acquired from the hit. Zevran never brought back anything from the hits other than the occasional bit of coin.

With careful precision, eyes glued to her face, he peels back the clothing--a blanket, she realizes--to reveal a wide-eyed elven babe, who stares at her with big, curious dark brown eyes. Erenya gasps, hands drawing back to cover her gaping mouth. Her eyes meet Zevran’s as a grin flashes across his lips. “I told you I would steal you one.”

“Zevran!” She swats at his shoulder in horror, her gaze falling back down to the quiet child.

“I kid, Pepe. No thievery involved, I promise.”

He raises the babe up, out toward his shaken partner. _If he really thinks that invoking her nickname will help whatever it is he’s done here_ \--But she doesn’t know how to react. The love of her life brought her, of all things, a _baby_ , presumably with the implication for them to raise it together.

“Take it back. Zev, we can’t--This is, I don’t--”

He cuts her off with a quick kiss, enough force behind it to halt her rambling for a moment when he pulls away. “Her parents were Lalo’s targets. To leave her would be to let her starve.”

Some ease enters into her scattered brain, but she steps away to resume a new type of frantic pace around the room, her arms waving in the air with abandon while she attempts to reason with him. “Zevran, we can’t just … This is something people discuss, normal people, we can’t just-- And our work! Yours and mine! She’d be in danger all the time and one of us would need to stay behind and--Babies! They cry! They’re fussy and they need things, important things, things a life on the road can’t afford them!” Her shoulders sag as she comes to a stop in front of him. “Zevran, we can’t keep this baby.”

Zevran ignores all this, one of those self-assured grins on his face as he walks over to the couch and plops down. He settles the baby beside him on the cushion, granting him the use of both hands to work off the top half of his armor. “You know what happens to us when we have no parents.”

The pointed _us_ in his statement referring to elves, their kind, the kind Erenya fought so hard for. He knows her weak spots too well, and damn him, he means to exploit it. Worse, it works, her argument weakening in her mind against the idea at the mere reminder.

“She could have family out there still. Grandparents, aunts, uncles. Someone who’ll miss her, who could take care of her.”

Zevran shakes his head, some of the water from his hair spraying around him. “No one.” That grin returns. “Do you want to hold her?”

“No, I don’t want to hold her, cause we’re _not_ keeping her!” Erenya’s eyes shifts down to the baby again, the dark curls that topped her hair, the lovely dark shade of her skin akin to Zevran’s own. Her heart squeezes to think of how easily she might grow to love the thing. “Our life is dangerous enough! Look what happened tonight!”

He shrugs, wincing with the motion, which reminds her that she has yet to grab the injury kit. She dashes out of the room and returns, kneeling between his legs to help tend to the gash in his side. He’s right, the wound is shallow, but she gives him a healing potion anyway before applying a salve and a bandage. The babe resting against his leg doesn’t so much as squeak, just continues to watch with her wide eyes.

“She is a quiet one,” he says when he catches Erenya staring at the child. “I haven’t heard her cry once. Not even during the fight.”

Erenya scowls to try to mottle the blush on her cheeks. “That’ll change. All we need is to sneak up on some bandits and have her start wailing.” She tears her eyes away to glare at him. “We can try and find a Dalish clan, drop her off there. It’s her best chance at a good life.”

“Or,” he drags the word out, cocking his head to the side as his grin returns, “she stays with us.” His hands find hers, dug into the edge of the couch cushion. “I made you a promise, _mi amore_.” With forceful carefulness, he pries her fingers away to slide her hand into his, squeezing as he peers into her watering eyes. “Here is that choice they stole away from you.”

She falls silent, the taste of steel on her tongue while her heart hammers in her chest. Her last defense strips away with his final sentence as tears spill down her cheeks. The palm of her free hand wipes at her eyes, a small smile breaking out on her lips. “You stole me a baby.”

“Ninety-nine more to go,” he laughs, earning him a stern glare.

She rips her hand away, shoving at his shoulders. “No, no, definitely not. One is enough, thank you.”

He picks up the baby, and before she can protest, he thrusts the bundle into her arms. “She needs a name.” His eyes alight at the sight of her adjusting to cradle the babe proper, careful to support its head.

Erenya unswaddles her enough so that small hands reach out and grasp at her fingers. She rises to move onto the couch, eyes stuck to this tiny elven girl who holds her hand captive. Zevran’s arm wraps around her shoulder, allowing her to curl herself around this baby and into his side. He kisses the crown of Erenya’s head before his hand brushes away some of her hair away from her face.

“There is nothing I would not do for you.” It’s a repeat of a promise made to her long ago, though more definitive.

“Meleth,” Erenya speaks. “Her name is Meleth.”

She wonders if he knows the meaning, but he must, because there’s a squeeze followed by a tight, “Fitting,” that passes from his lips.

Meleth. _Love_.


End file.
